"My name is Kneebone," added the portly personage, stepping forward. It was the same smell that she had in his memory, but now it was definite, palpable, like a perfume. Maggot. The darkness was almost palpable; and the wind which, hitherto, had been blowing in gusts, was suddenly lulled. But he might have broken out of prison, and yet not got over the wall of Clerkenwell Bridewell.
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